


Paper Flowers

by edy



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Imaginary Friends, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-30
Updated: 2011-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 12:46:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edy/pseuds/edy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard has always been an outcast. He doesn't want friends. He has all the company he needs inside the world he's made up in his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> inspiration: "imaginary" by evanescence
> 
> translation into русский available: [Paper Flowers](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3115481/8201058) by [miamustdie](https://ficbook.net/authors/825242)

Gerard Way has always been an outcast.

Nobody has paid any attention to him since he was born all the way up to his teen years. Now, that's not completely true.

And he likes it that way.

Gerard doesn't want friends.

He doesn't want a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, for that matter.

Hell, he doesn't even want a family. Okay, that's a little too much.

He stays in his basement room downstairs all the time, right on his bed, arms behind head, looking up at the ceiling.

His parents often ask him why he doesn't like hanging out with any of his peers. They know they all smoke, drink, and do some form of drug at least every other night, but they just want Gerard to have _friends_. They're trying. Gerard doesn't blame them.

They pull him into the dining room one evening and put him in one of the wooden chairs. They sit opposite him, and his father says, "Gerard, you need to get out. Have fun, make some friends. You've been going to that school for years, and I have never seen one of your classmates over here. Why?"

Gerard just shakes his head at them, his hazel eyes wide. He replies with a shaky voice. It's soft, and his mother and father has to lean in to hear.

"I don't want friends."

He gets up from the dining room chair, his hand on the back of it, gripping it tightly. He slides it in place and walks past his mother. It's almost teasing because he knows what she's going to do. She's predictable, latching onto the sleeve of his leather jacket she always insists on not wearing inside. "Why don't you want any friends?" she questions, her grip turning loose. Her eyes are tender, caring. "Gerard?"

"I don't want friends," he repeats, his arm falling out his mother's hand.

"But _why_?" she presses, reaching out to grab her son again, drawing him in close, noticing how he is walking out of the room once more. "Why don't you want any?" She's desperate for an answer that will live up to her expectations.

Gerard stares at her and finally provides a solution to the question: a tap of his temple with one long, pale finger. "I have all the friends I need in here."

She lets him go, and he walks from the room, going toward the basement. He can hear his Chuck Taylor's softly thud against the floor as he shuffles off. His arms wrap around his stomach in comfort, and he jumps down each step to his bed, closing the door behind him with a hard slam. He's a brat.

He jumps onto his bed, not even pausing once to pull off his shoes. His mother will throw a fit if she sees him jumping on his bed with his shoes still on, but not an ounce of care is in his care cup today. He plops down on his bed and lies back, pressing his back against the messy, dark covers. His head is resting comfortably on a fluffy pillow as he props his arms behind it. Week-old eyeliner cracks on his bottom eyelids. He doesn't care, crosses his ankles, making a small smile appear on the corner of his mouth as he chews on the inside of his cheek. He studies the ceiling, forming his playground again, creating his Wonderland, his paradise, his field of paper flowers. He's a bit dramatic.

He has never gotten a paper cut from all these flowers. He lounges in them all day, rolls around in them, even sometimes picks them and rubs them on his face, and he never gets a paper cut. This saddens him. He would love to see this blank world of white flowers be tainted with his red blood, as sinister as that sounds.

He wanders through the field, staring at the purple sky filled with candy clouds of lullaby roll above him, hearing the paper crumble underneath his shoes. He glances behind him, seeing the flowers he just stepped on spring back to life, just as if they haven't been tread on seconds before. Gerard looks back ahead, heading toward the spot he usually lays. He doesn't know why he has a specific place. The whole field looks the same, but there's something about this certain spot that makes him want to fall down into it every time he's sucked into his own head.

He stretches out on the ground, feeling the flowers flattening under his head, almost becoming like his pillow back on his bed. He threads his fingers into his hair and observes this place of bright and violet.

There is no sound in the air, and this brings tears to his eyes. He sits up, and he looks around his field. He wants to call out the someone's name, but he soon spots the said someone coming upon the horizon line.

Gerard's face lifts up, and he raises off the ground, walking toward the moving figure. He can't help but be cheesy and stretch out his and give a silly grin. He watches as the other before him mimics his movements. Gerard laughs, and the other boy does, too.

Soon, they are standing just a few feet apart, and they're both wearing the same goofy grins. Gerard raises his hand, and he watches the other boy do the same. "You came," Gerard says, lightly bouncing on his heels.

The other boy jumps on his heels, too, but says not a word.

Gerard laughs at his silence and gets back down on the ground, lying on his back. He turns his head, and the other boy follows his actions. Gerard raises his left hand, reaching out. The boy by his side raises his right hand and edges it forward, touching each of their fingertips together. They both smirk, and Gerard heavenly sighs. "Frankie."

Frankie gives a small smile and raises his free hand, pushing his dark brunet bangs out of his own hazel eyes. "Gee."

Gerard scoots closer, knotting their fingers together. He turns on his side, pulling Frankie on his side, too, so they could face each other. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner." He frowns, leaning his head against the paper flowers. "My mother and father were trying to convince me to get friends… again." He lowers his gaze, as if this was something to be embarrassed for.

Frankie frowns, too, and he clenches Gerard's hand. "You have all you need in here, though."

Gerard smiles once more. "I know. I don't see how they can't understand that." He pauses for a few seconds, and then leans in, closing his eyes, putting his mouth to Frankie's. It's sudden, out of nowhere, but it feels right. They aren't strangers. They could never be strangers. Frankie raises his free hand, cupping Gerard's cheek, kissing him back, moving their lips together. Gerard touches Frankie's small hip, curling his fingers around it, sealing whatever empty space is still between them. He can feel their moans with his fingertips, and he slides out his tongue, starting to lap at Frankie's bottom lip.

Their hands roam down, into their skinny jeans, tugging, shifting them to their thighs. Gerard starts to get all hot, and he can't breathe, but he continues to kiss Frankie. They have never gotten this far before. They have only made out a little and even shown each other how they look without their shirts on, but… nothing like _this_ before.

Gerard's excited for this. He likes this. He dips his hand into Frankie's boxers, wanting to fish out the thing that he has wanted to see ever since he had seen Frankie in his field of paper flowers. He feels it, but he wants to see it. He wants it so bad. 

Gerard's bedroom door is pushed open, and it reflects against the stone wall behind it. He sits up, feeling his hair stick to his forehead, sweaty and gross. He peels his hair from his skin, pushing it away, from his eyes. He peers through the darkness, trying to see who disturbs him in his field. When his eyes adjust, and it doesn't take long for them to adjust, he finds his mother at the top of the stairs. "What do you want?" he asks, his voice coming out small, unlike the one he recently used near Frankie.

His mother comes down the steps, and he scowls at her, thankful she can't see in the dark as well as he. "Gerard," she says cautiously, as if she's picking her words carefully. "Why don't you hang out with your brother? He's up in his room, playing some video games. Why don't you join him?" She sits down on his bed and goes to touch his leg, but he pulls them away, up close to his chest, trying to get his mother's touch from spreading to him. He also has an erection. Go figure.

Gerard stares at her, shaking his head. "I don't want to. I'm fine down here."

She frowns, hands collecting in her lap. She sighs. "Well, at least you can drive next year. You can bring some friends home, then."

"I don't want to drive," Gerard says, putting his own hands into his lap, both torturing and relieving him. He bites his lip. "I don't want friends."

She sighs again, frustrated. Gerard can tell she wants to touch her son, wants to be in contact with him, but she shakes it away and stands from the bed, going to the stairs to leave. "Want me to turn on a light?" Her hand lingers along the wall, hovering above the light switch, and Gerard shakes his head, leaning in and falling onto his stomach, now only torturing himself. He winces with pain, hiding his face in his bed sheets. His mother is oblivious. "It's okay, honey. I won't turn on a light… Make sure to take a shower before going to bed, dear." And she starts back up the stairs, closing the door behind her.

Gerard pops his head back up, glancing around his room. He looks behind him, grabbing his pillow, tucking it between his legs, relief. Eagerly, he undoes his jeans, pushing them and his boxers to his thighs, like before, when he was with Frankie. Frankie. "Frankie," he whimpers, putting the pillow in between his legs again, holding it against his erection with two hands. "Frankie… Come back to my field of paper flowers."


End file.
